Beastly: A Fractured Fairy Tale
by AngelOfDeath10
Summary: AU, SoMa, Maka's services as a book appraiser have taken her to the Evans estate for the winter, but on the job in a nearly empty house is the last place she expects to encounter a person she might even grow to like more than literature. Now if only he weren't such a beast.
1. Introduction

Had a bunny scramble against my brain. This is going to be a short one, I think. Just a few parts. Roughly Regency inspired, loosely based on Beauty and the Beast, and in general probably a bit mad. This will probably be a slow project in addition to short. I thought about using this premise for Naruto's Gaara and Sakura but I always thought of the Beast as having a truly sensitive core and I think it fits Soul and Maka's personality types much better.

Disclaimer: I don't own Soul Eater or its cast of characters! Alas!

* * *

The chill that ran through Maka's bones was not entirely the fault of the early winter frost, but the way it blew up her long skirts made her wish she resided in a warmer climate. She'd read of deserts where heat made people hallucinate, and that sounded preferable to feeling like your bones were aching from the inside out. The ghoulish door in front of her seemed positively medieval with depressing religious scenes playing out on the thick dark wood. She clasped the knocker and gave it her all before pulling off her leather gloves and picking up her travelling bag once more. Carriage horses stomped and huffed behind her, their noises punctuated by a sharp wind.

It seemed like the richer someone was, the more invisible their household staff seemed to be. Maka was trying to make sense of the fact that, other than the doorman who was presumably behind the door that had seemingly opened on its own in front of her, no one else was there in the main entry hall. For the massive scale of the place, it was nearly dust free and entirely spotless, even with ornate tables and embellished decorative vases that surely needed a detailed dusting regime to keep it from looking discolored. Keen green eyes stuck a number on everything she spotted, and Maka sighed and wondered if there would ever be a time again she could simply appreciate beauty without analyzing it.

"Ms. Albarn, we're delighted you could be spared by your family. Yours is a name that resonates when the topic of appraisal comes up." Hair such a light blond it might have been mistaken for white and an easy demeanor were the two things that stuck out about this man who descended gracefully from the staircase across the room. Maka noted the fine quality of his clothes and the gold chain of his pocket watch—clearly this was the client and not the help.

"I'm sure it's my mother that deserves the praise, not I." The bag she had been holding was wearing at the frigid joints in her hand but she held on doggedly. Taking a deep breath she forced herself not to feel tired or nervous. "My father told me the assignment could take some time, and I've arrived with the appropriate luggage Mr…?"

"Call me Wes, Ms. Albarn, but I see by that stern expression that you might prefer Mr. Evans."

There was a winking quality to his raspberry eyes that Maka wasn't sure she liked. It was as if he were amused by her and her sensible travelling outfit, or her hair in a prim bun and topped with a two seasons too late hat. Maka knew she was pursing her lips like a disapproving chaperone, but everything about him was rubbing her wrong. He reminded her of her father too much by half.

Action was the only thing she could think about that calmed her. "Thank you Mr. Evans, if someone can see me first to my temporary living quarters and then to your library I will set up my materials."

"Ms. Albarn, your father sent ahead a letter that you would be likely to overexert yourself upon arrival. I'll have your bags brought from the carriage to your quarters, but I and my family insist you rest. The library will be there tomorrow, and in the same state it resides in today."

Maka was not her father, and this was not a vacation. Naturally he would try to convince the rich clients to pamper his precious flower of a daughter, but Maka hated playing at helpless femininity. There was work to be done, and a library wasn't going to catalogue and evaluate itself.

Wes checked his watch, gold and silver wrought with fine details and worth more than she made in a year, and continued to smile in her direction. "Once you've had a moment to refresh yourself there is some supper, if you feel inclined. The family, such as we are, ate earlier."

He extended a hand towards her, long fingers soft and elegant but with peculiar calluses. Rather than link her arm into his, Maka placed the handle of her bag in his hand and watched with unguarded amusement as he misjudged the weight of it and nearly toppled forward. Once he regained his feet he gave her one of those curious stares that reminded her of how people looked at her in the city back home. The familiarity felt good, the dawning respect even better.

"Lead the way, Mr. Evans."

* * *

The same black magic that opened doors and dusted shelves seemed to have also carried her bags and drawn her a bath before she had reached her rooms in some obscurely named wing of this massive residence. Mr. Evans had taken so long with his casual stroll and impromptu tour, that she was unsurprised her bags had beat her to the room. Even with a warm bath in front of her and a plush bed to her right, Maka couldn't shake the chill of the uncanny. Her life would feel normal once she started her work. Books were always comforting.

A quick rinse off and Maka was in a sensible burgundy winter dress and ready to eat something. Naturally energetic, it was hard to think of going to sleep when she had spent the day anticipating arriving here (as moderately coerced as the arrangement had been thanks to her father's bad planning). The name Evans was ubiquitous with money and talent, but they also had an air of mystery due to the fact that they didn't frequent high society so much as grace it with their condescension when they felt the desire to do so. Connections to multiple royal families, by way of marriage to cousins to the throne, gave them lines to all sorts of titles while not actually holding any. It was a way of life totally foreign to Maka, who believed respect was earned and had fought long and hard to be marked as a rising star in her profession.

"Let's find this dining room," she mumbled to herself, and straightened her shoulders to stride through her doorway and into the empty hallway. As she moved she tied her hair into a quick bun and amended that 'empty' wasn't the best way to describe the spaces she moved through—plush carpets, fancy paintings, and random art objects were strewn around in such a tasteful fashion that no doubt someone had been paid to curate and arrange the items over time.

It made no sense to be disdainful of having so much money you had to have other people look after your things when she was going to be paid for cataloguing and pricing out the no doubt extensive Evans family library. Having quickly succeeded in getting her mind right and pulling a good mood out of what had been some dark thoughts, Maka marched confidently down the hallway despite having no idea where she was going. Channeling an obnoxious friend of hers, she figured wherever she ended up was exactly where she was supposed to be.

When Maka would think back on it later, her steps guided themselves mostly due to desire to combat the oppressive silence of the house than anything else. At first it was just the hint of noise which bloomed into full-fledged cacophony once she took a staircase down to the main level and wandered back into the other arm of this side of the house that she suspected contained family rooms.

Clearly it was someone playing the piano, but it wasn't the stately clipped staccato notes she was accustomed to hearing from people or even the flowing rustic tunes they played at dances. Thinking of dances took her down a mental corridor as she recalled the last one she had attended to keep her father in check lest he compromise some pretty young thing and further make Maka's life a living social hell. No, the person at the piano sounded as if they were losing their mind and expressing it musically. It was as compelling to her in that way that drew people when there was a carriage accident or a street fight. This aural madness was primal and charismatic.

The door was cracked open to the music room, which Maka took as an implicit invitation. On the other side of the room with a shock of messy white hair and hunched shoulders, the mysterious musician wasn't Wes Evans so Maka knew at the very least there were three people in this mansion including herself. His fingers flew over the keyboard, sour notes mixing the with beautiful in such a way that Maka couldn't have told you if it was art or not. She had no training in apprising this.

Once the music ceased and the oppressive silence was back to complement the muted lamplight in the room, the hunched shoulders of the musician straightened out when Maka gave a polite cough to announce her presence. A furious aristocratic face that looked enough like Wes Evans that they had to be related whipped round, baring a sharp grimace.

"Get the hell out."

Rude. "I was trying to find my way to the dining room. I'm the appraiser you hired to catalogue your library this winter. My name is Maka Albarn." Maka wasn't used to being instantly disliked and she found the feeling unpleasant. It was one thing to be judged for your actions and presentation and another to merely be judged for existing.

"Great. It's back the way you came, through the entryway, huge door second from the left." When Maka didn't move he added a slightly sarcastic. "Farewell."

Placing her hands on her hips Maka fought the urge to tell this man a thing or two about common courtesy, reminding herself that this wasn't her house or her family. Her family had its own terrible quirks, if she was going to be cuttingly honest, but at least her father had taught her how to be hospitable.

Gritting her teeth against the scold she wanted to administer, she tried to part with some grace. "Thank you for the directions. I hope when we meet next the circumstances will allow for more time to introduce ourselves." Or possibly at least introduce Maka's fist to his sneer. "For what it's worth, I thought your music was incredible." Even if his company sucked.

The surprise on his face as she whirled around on a heeled boot to stomp towards a cold dinner smoothed his features out considerably, making him less grotesque. He might even be handsome, despite those wicked teeth and devilishly red eyes. No wrinkles so he might even be her peer, rather than a man who had earned his white hair from long years and rough living. Then again if rough living affected your hair then fate and fairness should have struck her father bald ages ago.

"I didn't come here to make friends." Maka reminded herself, but she knew herself too well to think that she'd be able to leave the cranky pianist to his own devices if he also lived here. "It's just a job, be a professional. What would your mother do?" Invoking her mother usually focused her well, but a voice in the back of her head told her that her mama had her own deep running faults. Anyone who thought they could marry Spirit Albarn had to be more than a little unstable, or at the very least have unrealistic life expectations.


	2. Libraries

Depression is hard. Just got the monkey off my back a little and now I need to get my groove back. Will be working on this as I feel inspired. Writing is good for the mind. Specifically it's good for my mind and mood.

Disclaimer: see part 1

* * *

Maka knew she was starting to lose her mind as a consequence of isolation, and she didn't relish seeing the early snow begin to settle over the vast Evans property. Once a day, every day, a grocery cart would arrive roughly before breakfast time. Hunched and hooded figures wrapped in layers against the cold would appear as if by magic and swiftly unload supplies before the cart would take off down the lane once more, but Maka felt like they were no more real than her breath clouding the glass pane. Her experience with moneyed families tended to reinforce that the more you had the more people needed to support it, and she supposed the battalions of servants were following around Mr. and Mrs. Evans while this nearly empty summer home remained fallow. Maybe the expectation was that she was part of this skeleton crew, but she didn't feel at home.

Ghostly music, faint and discordant, would sometimes waft through hallways as she emerged from the library and took her meals. Other than a few awkward lunches with Wes Evans, who promptly left to attend to business on one of the other Evans properties as of yesterday, Maka hadn't had a chance to practice her social niceties, such as they were. Filling the time between bouts of work, as one could not work every hour of the day and remain on top of one's game, she took to walking the paths around the grounds and secretly searching for signs of life. Until this experience she had always thought she preferred a solitary life, but that was being proven untrue spectacularly by the creeping loneliness of the short daylight hours.

As if an answer to a prayer, the monotony was broken in her work by a distressing wheezing coming from one of the book filled rooms that made up the large interconnected library space. Closer inspection found what she would describe as a "disheveled gentleman" if a polite person had asked her, but in her own mind the words "aggravating ruffian" flitted through as his distinct white hair sparked recognition. He was sleeping in a chair to bask in what little sunlight there was to catch from the high windows with his booted feet propped up by a pile of books, and honestly Maka would never have found him if not for the snoring emanating from his general direction.

Maka wanted to speak sharply to him, remind him books were not meant for the purpose he was employing them for, but she also knew they were his family's to do with as they pleased. It would be the better part of a few weeks before she had to attack that particular stack of tomes and more good would be done by straightening her posture and taking the high road back to her work.

Of course, her body was more willful than her mind as she "accidentally" bumped into his feet and knocked them from their perch.

"What in… oh it's you." Sleepy crimson eyes took her in, slowly blinking, before a yawn showed off practically canine teeth. Expecting more dramatics than that, Maka had remained unmoving in front of him, and he regarded her once more with one bloodshot red eye. "Yeah? Some problem?"

"Not at all!" Maka's voice came out at a higher pitch and volume than she would have liked, completely obliterating the appearance of nonchalance that she had hope to create.

The single eye rolled back in the man's head with as much sarcasm as the gesture could contain given how little movement was involved. If Maka had been cold before, her steadily rising internal temperature was counteracting that nicely.

Giving a cough to grab his attention, which his answering groan confirmed, she added something extra chipper to her thinly veiled order. "Having inspected a number of the rooms for loose books, I can recommend what seems to be a number of more comfortable locations to nap. I'll be moving throughout the rooms and you might find that my activities will disturb your rest, Mr. Evans."

There was a grumble of words which she deciphered as effectively communicating that she should go about her business away from him, so Maka took a steadying breath and did just that. It took force of will not to simply stand next to the man and poke him until he interacted with her, if for no other reason than it would be nice to be a little less alone in this great big house, but her work was absorbing and an unknown amount of time passed in which she was plucking books from shelves, making notes, and designating piles. The Evanses, like many families in which there are multiple artists, seemed prone to leaving things pressed inside of books. At first it seemed quaint to find half written letters or snatches of poetry marking places, but it seemed that there was enough half-finished correspondence that it might need its own filing system.

Maka was perched on a ladder reading what must have been the umpteenth draft of a love poem to "fairest Erika" some Evans relative had stuffed among volumes of a small encyclopedia of animals and their traits, when a voice near her ankle startled her. Kicking off the ladder and miraculously not landing a soft leather shoe in the face of a startled Mr. Evans, Maka landed in a tense crouch with fierce eyes trained on her erstwhile attacker.

Once his mouth eased out of its 'O' of surprise, he gave her a rueful smile. "That's a fancy trick, Albarn."

"I grew up with a friend, like a brother really, who taught me I needed to stay on my toes in any given situation or face the painful consequences." Maka accepted the praise while taking in the disheveled appearance of the younger Evans after his long nap. It was as if someone had taken Wes Evans and rolled him down a hill. He gave off a distinctively ungentlemanly air of casual association.

"Sounds exciting." There were those teeth again, but whatever mercurial forces drove his mood had him regarding her in a friendly manner in this moment. "What's that? Writing letters instead of working?"

His tone implied a bad joke, but Maka's spine stiffened at the thought that she would be anything less than diligent at her paid task. "Not unless I suddenly started signing my correspondence 'your ever loyal Free' with great gobs of ink everywhere." Compelled to provide evidence, her stiff arm thrust the paper at Evans who casually plucked it from her with a smile that wasn't leaving his face. While reading the poem that smirk crinkled in disgust.

"Good 'ol Uncle Fredrick. Not much of a poet, but he tried."

"If you want to see drafts one through fifteen they're behind me in that stack." Maka gestured over, while she tried not to flinch in annoyance as Evans dropped the paper where he stood and wandered over to where she was sorting the library. Their sleeves whispered against one another as he passed and she took a sudden breath at his proximity, reminding herself that perhaps as a rich eccentric artist he didn't understand social propriety and the concept of personal space.

"This is all the same poem. Good lord, he really didn't understand the idea of revision…" Evans regarded Maka, who had picked up the loose paper and was coming over to place it with its brethren. "You might as well toss them in the fireplace and add a little warmth to this hell."

"Mr. Evans!" His language was mild compared to what she had frequently overheard in her father's conversations with his friends when they were drinking well past her bedtime as a young girl. But there was value in pretending as if she were innocent of such knowledge, it's what clients expected wasn't it?

"Ms. Albarn!" His tone mocked her. "Funny how you can read so many books and still be scandalized by a word." Showing off those teeth once more, he tore the stack of poem drafts in two and let them drift to the floor before stuffing hands in his pockets and slouching his way out of the library. He paused at the door only briefly while Maka seethed a bit at him rightly pointing out her mock outrage was ridiculous. "You can address me as Soul; Mr. Evans isn't my preference."

He was around the corner before she could draw breath to respond.


End file.
